The Dolomite Solution by Trevor Scott Page A

number.
    That would have to wait, though. Instead, he got onto the computer, checking out the company that Allen Murdock worked for in Germany. Once on the World Wide Web, he located a profile of Richten Pharmaceuticals. He downloaded the information to his hard drive, got off the Web, and then started looking it over. Pretty impressive company. It was a wholly owned subsidiary of a Providence conglomerate. Richten and the Providence company had a favorable marketing arrangement. Richten itself was a huge company with thousands of employees working out of facilities in the Czech Republic, Hungary, a small plant outside of Berlin, and of course the headquarters and main production facility in Mainz. They produced everything from acetaminophen to zinc ointment. Their greatest claims to fame were an anti-rejection drug for organ transplants, and a cancer drug with minimal side effects and questionable results.
    â€œThis is interesting,” Jake said to himself.
    He clicked onto a profile of the top leadership at Richten, provided, undoubtedly, by some overzealous public relations weenie. There was photographs and short bios for the top five employees, from the president and CEO, to vice president of operations, research and development, personnel, and marketing. There was nothing about Allen Murdock. Which wasn’t surprising.
    Jake logged off and finished his beer. He thought about last night. The call that had sent him to the alley was disturbing. Whoever had set him up, had to know where he lived. He felt a little vulnerable now, and that wasn’t something he enjoyed.
    He packed a bag quickly, shoving as much as he could into a suit bag. He also put his computer in its own case and then started for the door.
    The phone rang. He turned and thought about simply letting it ring, but he was curious who might be calling him since nobody really had his number. He picked up and said hello.
    There was a slight pause on the other end.
    â€œHello?” Jake repeated.
    â€œIs this Jake Adams?” came a deep voice with a German accent.
    â€œYeah, who’s this?”
    The man hesitated. “This is Otto Bergen,” he said. “I’m a local businessman and I understand you are a security consultant who has just moved to Innsbruck. I was hoping we could meet tonight over dinner. I might have some work for you.”
    Jake ran what the man had said through his mind. How had he found out about him? It’s not like he had even put the word out in town that he was available. In fact, he had planned on taking some time off. Enjoy himself for a change.
    â€œI’m not sure I’m available,” Jake said. This wasn’t totally false since he had planned on finding out who killed Allen Murdock and tried setting him up for it.
    The man on the other end was thinking it over. “Why not just meet me for dinner, hear me out, and then decide. We all have to eat, Mr. Adams.”
    That was true. And it was even better when someone else was paying. “Sure. Where and when?”
    â€œHow’s seven-thirty at the Ambras?”
    That was more than fine. The Ambras Restaurant was the hottest place in Innsbruck. It was trendy enough for a thousand dollar suit, or blue jeans. “Fine. How will I know you?”
    â€œI’ll wait at the bar for you. My hair is gray across the top and dark on the sides.”
    Strange enough, Jake thought. “I’ll see you there.” He hung up and then stared at the phone. Incredibly strange.
    He started for the door again and stopped. What the hell. He picked up the phone again and left a message with Toni’s service. Eventually, they’d get together.
    He locked up and went down to his car.
    The snow that had fallen the night before was almost gone, except for a few spots in the shadows between buildings or trees.
    He threw his bag and computer into the back seat, got behind the wheel and stared out at the river flowing by. There was something